


Dancing Fool

by hepsybeth



Series: Give Those Kids and Me the Brand New Century [8]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, M/M, Prohibition, Valentine's Day, also random references to other shit lol, can i get some mfuckin uhhhh romcom?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-02 02:30:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15787122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hepsybeth/pseuds/hepsybeth
Summary: Romeo came to the conclusion that he was in love with his best friend. He also came to that conclusion five days before Valentine’s Day.





	Dancing Fool

**Author's Note:**

> apparently the stress of school gives me the motivation to write, who'da thunk?
> 
> warning: i licherally don't know all the intricacies of every aspect of fanon specs and romeo's characterization and personalities, but i tried my hand at it as best as i can
> 
> enjoy (and review if you like!)
> 
> the title comes from "dancing fool" by Harry B. Smith. if you wanna listen to it, i'd recommend the version on the archive. org website since the one on youtube is kinda...weird? but the youtube version has the lyrics and the archive one has the authentic vinyl audio, but no singing?? idk, do what y'all want lol

Romeo came to the conclusion that he was in love with his best friend. He also came to that conclusion five days before Valentine’s Day. 

He was with his best friend, Specs, when he came to that conclusion. January’s winter, with its thick grey skies and forceful grey winds, so cold it felt like it  _ burned _ , were slowly but surely giving way to the marginally warmer February. However, the change sure loved taking its sweet time _.  _ Romeo had entered the doors of  _ The World _ and headed to his desk, his nose numb, and red no doubt, sniffing the whole way. After removing his hat and dusting the snow off his heavy brown coat, he began the routine he followed every morning at his job. He gathered and organized his notes from the day before, set up his typewriter, and silently bemoaned his missed breakfast like he always did. And thus his morning began, to the sounds of his arriving co-workers chatting, the metallic clicking of keys, and the familiar smell of Chesterfields and ink.

He was beginning to write about the incident at Dublin Castle, just recently handed over to the Irish Free State (having many Irish friends, Romeo was well-informed about the latest happenings across the Atlantic, though the opinions that individual Irish friends had were occasionally divisive) when he saw Specs walk inside. Specs was holding two steaming hot cups of coffee— one nearly white with milk and the other completely black (even if he couldn’t immediately see the contents, Romeo just  _ knew _ ), his worn messenger bag slung across his chest. And despite the biting cold and the early morning, Specs still gave him a blinding smile, eyes shining behind his eponymous spectacles.

It wasn’t something out of the ordinary, being greeted like that. His smile wasn’t anything different. He wasn’t wearing anything fancy. He couldn’t discern what made it different.

But this time? It might have been a shift in the atmosphere of the building, maybe a change in the angle. Was it the lighting? Something Romeo ate? Whatever it was, when Romeo raised his hand in greeting, he was taken by the sudden unshakeable feeling that he was in love with Specs.

Romeo took his black coffee, warming his thin fingers around it, letting the steam envelop his face. He shared jokes with some of his coworkers, most of them friends. While they would hesitate to call it such, they gossipped about Hollywood scandals and Delancey assholes. Talk eventually died down Romeo was called over to Wisel’s office, temporarily assigned the William Desmond Taylor case since the guy originally writing it was out sick. On his way back to his desk, however, he came up with an idea as his eyes gazed at his friend currently hunched over his typewriter.

He was going to give Specs the best Valentine’s Day ever, provided it didn’t blow up in either of their faces.

* * *

 

Four days before Valentine’s Day, Romeo asked Specs what his favorite color was.

“You don’t know?” Specs asked. The atmosphere seemed so grey, so maybe that’s why Romeo had come up with the question. The sky was grey, the streets were grey, and everyone seemed to be wearing various different shades of grey. The two of them had been walking down Mott Street, periodically dodging out of the way of street salesmen trying to sell them the Latest and Greatest something or the other, and talking about the Desmond Taylor murder, when Romeo blurted out the question, seemingly out of nowhere.

Romeo felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment and made a silent prayer that the taller man wouldn’t notice (not that they were looking at each other since they were walking side by side down the icy road). “Just a question. Don’t remember you ever bringin’ it up.”

Specs paused before responding, humming silently. “Yellow,” he finally said.

“Yellow?” Romeo asked in mild surprise. In his head, he flipped through the pages of memories that he had with the other man since they were boys. He couldn’t recall a single memory where the other had worn yellow, in any shade in a matter of fact.

“What of it?”

“It’s definitely...uh...bright.” Romeo smiled, looking at Specs. He watched as the man rolled his eyes. 

“I like dandelions,” Specs explained. “Dandelions are yellow. Simple as that.”

“You like  _ dandelions? _ ” Romeo asked loudly, not even trying to hide his incredulity. His voice seemed to catch the attention of other passersby who looked up from whatever they were doing just to glare at the young men.

“Dandelions,” Romeo repeated to himself, committing that fact to memory, organizing it in his intangible file cabinet between “DAMN THE FUCKING DODGERS” and “DARCY REID OWES ME ELEVEN DOLLARS”. 

Specs reached inside his jacket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, taking one out before storing the others away. It was a nerves thing, Romeo recalled, as the unlit cigarette danced over and under Specs’s fingers. Before the cigarette was eventually lit, Romeo took note of the bluish-purple color of Specs’s fingernails. The man had a low tolerance for the cold, which Romeo always found odd. If anyone should have a low tolerance for the cold, it should be Romeo himself since his father left his home in the Philippines to study at Columbia (and despite his constant gripes about the weather, he still stayed and married his mother, a Barnard student at the time). Specs was a Pole and his genes should’ve been acclimated to the winter from birth. Obviously, that meant nothing to Specs. 

Specs slowly drew in the smoke from his cigarette before releasing it. “If we’re on the subject of sharing things, care to say what your favorite color is?”

“Red,” Romeo said immediately. 

“Because it’s the color of love?” Specs groaned.

“Because it the color of love!” Romeo affirmed, swinging his arm across Specs’s shoulders.

* * *

“Was it a lovers quarrel, Ms. Normand?” Romeo shouted, trying and failing to stand his ground while being pushed and prodded by all sides by the other reporters who had gathered around the steps of the townhouse where Mabel Normand was staying. Apparently, a cousin of hers let her stay there in order to allow her cover from the heavy downpour of accusations that the actress was facing in California. However, a friend of a friend of a friend of the cousin let it slip that the actress was staying back in her hometown on Staten Island. At the sight of the plain-clothed Mabel hurrying down the steps, helped by an older woman, it was crystal clear that any and all cover was stripped away.

“Describe your relationship with Mr. Desmond Taylor!”

“Is it true that you were the last person to see him alive?”

“Does the nightgown belong to you, Ms. Normand?”

It was still dark out when Romeo received the telephone call with the anonymous hot tip. Outside of detailing the actress’s current place of residence, the caller was otherwise tight-lipped. It wasn’t as if the telephone call had interrupted Romeo from sleep (he’d been practically tossing and turning all night, half trying to figure out what the hell he was going to write on his Valentine’s Day card to Specs, half cursing himself for fretting that much over a Valentine’s Day card for  _ Chrissakes) _ . The motto of a reporter, of course, was to follow a story. And follow the story he did, hopping onto the ferry from Manhattan to Staten Island, more or less thankful that the cutting chill of the winter air was enough to take his mind off of Valentine’s Day.

However, once he’d arrived, he came to the conclusion that the caller had told every reporter in New York City this same “hot tip”. A growing crowd of red-nosed men with their dark suits and fedoras were gathered around the rumored townhouse, murmuring amongst themselves, notepads and cameras at the ready. 

“She’ll have to get out eventually,” Romeo had heard one reporter say as he walked closer to the crowd. “She’s an actress. She’ll wanna go shoppin’, yeah?”

“I saw her peekin’ through da window!” Romeo heard another man cry out, and a mini-stampeded of reporters angled their camera at the window where the man had pointed.

Variations of these happened a few times more, and the reporters were getting agitated, Romeo included. His stomach growled from the lack of breakfast like it did every morning and he became uncomfortably aware of his frozen fingers, wishing Specs was beside him with a smile and two cups of coffee.

Eventually, the door opened and Mabel had merely a second to peek out before the air became bright with camera flashes, like lightning during a storm. Romeo could still see the flashes behind his eyelids, echoed in bright reds and purples. Once his eyes focused once again, he called out his question, as did a number of other reporters did, quickly followed by more reporters until the noise became incomprehensible. The older woman, plump and short in stature, shielded the actress’s face from the reporters, pushing past the unyielding men. They made it to their car, not without excruciating effort, but before they did, Romeo caught a glimpse of Mabel’s eyes, swollen and red and fearful. 

The women went off, the crowd dispersed, and Romeo noticed the dawn begin to break on his ride back to Manhattan. All the while, he couldn’t take his mind off of those eyes.

* * *

“And she had blonde hair,” Mush was saying. It was three days before Valentine’s Day and he had been in the middle of telling a story, embellished more than likely, to Romeo and Specs, both of whom had come over to spend time with the man. His legs swung below him with the energy of a young child, largely contrasting with his muscled build and tall height. While telling his story, he was a certainly a sight, tan cheeks blushing and brown eyes practically becoming heart-shaped (in Romeo’s own opinion, Mush was probably the second most romantic fellow he knew). His hands finally fell down to his lap, as he’d been waving them about during his story. “I tell you, Romeo, we’ll be wed by spring.”

Mush’s door was always open, in a manner of speaking. His friendly demeanor gave him a sense of believing that strangers were just friends he hadn’t made yet. On more than one occasion, Specs had questioned that action, regarding it as naive. Romeo saw it as quite admirable, although he didn’t trust random strangers in the city as far he could throw them.

Romeo and Specs were seated in Mush’s cramped living space, although it could be seen as presumptuous to call claim that the place belonged to Mush as he shared it with many of his coworkers who worked together at a factory. Pay was little and the hours were long and Romeo couldn’t understand how Mush always had enough energy to give him the constant appearance of bouncing on his feet. However, such conditions didn’t keep Mush from experiencing any number of events as he still snuck into Broadway performances and attended underground communist meetings (not that anyone was supposed to know about the latter, but Mush had shared that information with Romeo, totally unprompted, during a night of drinking). The tall man was only second to Racetrack in the number of fascinating tales extraordinary exploits that he could share.

“Wed by spring,” Specs said, raising his eyebrows. He’d been writing something earlier and now he was idly flipping a pencil over and under his fingers in place of a cigarette. “Seems a little forward for a girl whose name you haven’t told us.”

“Her name’s Winifred Hylan,” Mush replied, hopping off the table with a smile. A cloud of dust rose from around his feet once he landed on the ground, and Romeo figured that that was the reason Davey had only come over once.

“Winifred Hylan,” Specs repeated in a flat tone. “It just rolls of the tongue, wouldn’t you say?”

“Any relationship to John Francis Hylan?” Romeo asked, curious.

“She’s the mayor’s youngest daughter, yeah,” Mush answered, confirming the question Romeo had been ready to ask. “Not that she cares about politics. Says it bored her to tears.” He was practically glowing and Romeo wondered if he ever looked like that when thinking about Specs. He sighed before continuing. “I love her.”

“You just met her,” Specs frowned. “Who falls in love with a person they just met? Wouldn’t it be better to get to know them before declaring your undying devotion?”

“Who said anything about undying devotion?”

“You said you’d be wed by spring.”

“Ah! But I didn’t say which spring.”

Romeo wasn’t facing Specs, but he was more than certain that he  _ heard _ Specs’s eyes roll.

“Did I tell you that when we met, the building was playing both of our favorite songs.” Mush sighed thoughtfully. “Love Her By Radio.”

“Could’ve sworn your favorite song was “Hot Lips”, Mush,” Specs said.

“Favorite songs change.” Mush said simply. “Everyone has a favorite song.”

“Specs, do  _ you _ have a favorite song?” Romeo asked, not trying to sound desperate for the answer.

Specs was silent, considering. A few seconds went by before he said, “Dancing Fool. You know it?”

“Do I?” Romeo said with confidence, although he hadn’t heard of the song in his life. “Absolutely.”

“And you, Romeo. You have a favorite song?” Mush asked.

“Anything you can dance to,” Romeo answered, winking at Specs, who simply shook his head.

“Anyway, Mabel Normand,” Mush said changing the subject. “You’re doing that story, right?”

“Of many doing that story, but, yes.”

“You suppose she did it?” Mush asked.

“My job is to report the story, not solve a murder,” Romeo said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Didn’t answer the question.”

Romeo thought back to Mabel Normand’s frightened eyes. “No idea. I don’t think so.”

“Think you’d get a raise if you solved the case?” Mush asked.

“I don’t think Wisel would give me a raise if I discovered the lost colony of Roanoke.”

“That’s a shame. Anyway, I hope she didn’t do it. She’s too pretty for prison.”

Specs barked out a short laugh. Mush and Romeo both glanced at him and Specs snickered a bit more before explaining. “That’s just what my ma said, sorry.”

“Anyway, you have any plans for tonight?” Mush asked, ignoring Specs’s sour attitude. “Any women to entertain? You know how gals are on Valentine’s Day. They’re all about roses and hearts and cutesy things and cards. You can’t ever forget the cards.”

“Nope,” Specs said.

“No?” Mush asked, looking almost like he pitied them.

“Not a single gal in the whole of Manhattan,” Romeo shrugged. “It’s pathetic.”

“That’s a shame, fellas,” Mush said, looking back and forth between them. “Especially you, Romeo. All that flirting and you didn’t land a single broad?”

And Romeo almost laughed. Because his flirting was never limited only to the occasional girl that passed his way. He took his flirting seriously, although it hadn’t yielded much for all his effort. When he flirted with those gals, it was seen as ordinary, almost instinctual for him. It was how he got his name, after being called a “Regular Romeo”. He would then flirt with his friends, initially in a joking manner, playing up anything in order to get a laugh. But then came the day when he realized that boys were as easy on the eyes as girls. Out of fear, maybe, he ceased. But even as their youthful days grew into adulthood, Romeo never stopped flirting with Specs.

If it all went over Specs’s head, it never stopped Romeo from trying.

“I can live another day. But, I think Specs here has resigned himself to being alone,” Romeo joked, playfully elbowing Specs in his side.

Specs frowned and rubbed his side. His feet tapped against the hard ground below. “I’m not alone. I’ve got you, don’t I?,” Specs said, looking at Romeo. Romeo’s eyes widened at this and the tight ball of anxiety that had formed the day he learned he was in love with his best friend loosened ever so slightly. 

That was, until Specs continued. “I’ve got you and all the other guys.”

Romeo cleared his throat. “Yeah, no doubt about it.”

A strange sort of silence hung in the air for a few seconds and, if the sound of the fingers tapping on the table was anything to go by, Mush was growing restless. That was confirmed when he practically jumped off the top of his table onto the ground below. “Anyway, fellas, I’ve got a lady to entertain in an hour so I need the two of you to find somewhere else to spend your time.”

“You kickin’ us out?” Romeo asked, grinning.

“Well, I wasn’t tryna be rude. But, yeah, I’m kickin’ the two of you out.”

“Valentine’s Day is in three days.” Specs pointed out as he and Romeo stood up.

“Who said that Valentine’s Day is the only day of the year when you show your significant other how much you care?”

“Now she’s your significant other?”

“Get outta here.” Mush said, ignoring Specs, He placed one hand on each of their backs and pushed them towards the door.

* * *

Two days before Valentine’s Day, Romeo was still working on the William Desmond Taylor story at his desk. It was almost like a pulp, the story of Hollywood jealousy and blackmail. Embellishment, of course, sold papers and he encouraged himself to produce eye-catching words and phrases: “Hired Assassin”, “Slayer”, “Blood-Stained”, “Lurker”, etc. 

“District Attorney accepts that Rich Easterner jealous over actress. Hired assassin to kill director." Romeo jumped slightly at the sound of Mike reading his notes over his shoulder. The man gave an impressed whistle. “This might be the story of the season, you think?”

“I wish.” Romeo leaned back on his chair, stretching slightly. “I’m enjoyin' this excitement while it lasts. Sooner or later, it’ll be back to dime-a-dozen petty crime. I’m lovin’ this.”

“Terrible shame for that Mabel Normand, huh,” a similar voice came from Romeo’s left. Romeo didn’t bother turning around, knowing it was Mike’s twin, Ike. He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Her career’s bound to go to shit.”

“That ain’t a nice thing to say, Ike,” Mike said.

“It’s true. It’s what the film industry calls baggage.”

“How the fuck would you know?”

“Before you ask,” Romeo said, interrupting the twins before they started to bicker at his desk instead of literally anywhere else. “I’m leanin' towards she didn’t do it.”

“Word is the police still suspects her,” Mike pointed out.

“I’m workin' on the story, Mike. I'm aware of what the word is. Besides, listen to this.” Romeo held up a page of notes he had scribbled down a few hours before. “Police are getting tips every day. Walter Thiele and L.D. Dailey, the first guys they arrested, were discharged. There’s some tips they consider more helpful than others, but they’re tight lipped as hell regarding them. Most of the officials lookin’ into this deem this case will remain— now look what I wrote here—  _ unsolved _ .”

Silence came for the twins for a grand total of five seconds before Ike said, “So, they don’t think Mabel did it?”

“No, they don’t think Mabel did it.”

“Bummer,” Mike mused. 

“There’s a $1,000 reward for whoever finds the murderer,” Romeo said. 

“Damn. And no one’s found the guy with that kind of money lying around?”

Romeo shook his head.

The twins eventually left and returned to their own desks finally. Romeo returned to his work.

“Hey, Romeo.” 

Romeo’s heart skipped a beat and he could kick himself with how quickly his head looked up to where Specs was standing. The tall man towered over his desk and his glasses were fogged over from the single cup of coffee he was holding, all the while wearing a sheepish grin. Romeo frowned at the coffee. Specs had already brought two cups of coffee that morning, one for Romeo and one for him. Specs’s desk wasn’t too far away from Romeo’s, so Romeo knew that Specs finished his coffee in almost half the time he usually did. And here he was with another cup of coffee; he only drank more than one if he was really nervous.

What the hell was Specs nervous about?

“Hey, Specs.” Romeo quickly fixed his face, smiling in place of a frown. “How goes it?”

“It’s good, I’m good, great. Everything’s great. Swell. How goes it with you?”

Romeo blinked. Specs had said that so quickly, more quickly than he usually said anything. 

“You doin’ alright there, Specs?” Romeo asked.

“Swell,” Specs said. He drank some of his steaming coffee, wincing slightly at the hot liquid.

“Did you want anythin', or?” Romeo asked. “I don’t mind you standin’ here, but I got a deadline with this—”

“How do you ask someone out on a date?” Specs said, his volume plummeting to nearly a whisper.

Romeo’s heart sank, but he’d rather die than let it show. Instead, his smile became teasing. “What is there to know? You just ask the gal on a date.”

“But how?”

“Let’s say that you’re the gal,” Romeo began, wishing he was anywhere else, talking about  _ anything  _ else. “And I’m the strapping young lad with all the bravado in the world and ego to match.”

“Romeo…”

“Quiet. It’s a process.” Romeo gestured towards himself. “Now I’m walkin’ up to you, probably got a bouquet of roses behind my back. I’m wearin' a spiffy suit and my shoes are shiny as hell. Now, you,” Here, Romeo gestured towards Specs. “You’re standin’ there, lookin' adorable as most gals do, and you act all shocked and surprised when the guy,” He gestured towards himself again. “Holds out the roses and gets down on one knee—”

“ _ Romeo _ .”

“He  _ doesn’t  _ get down on one knee, ha, what was that guy  _ drinkin’ _ ? Also, don’t get drunk before askin' someone out. Turns into a mess. Anyway, you got the roses and maybe even a box of chocolates, the good kind, not the cheap shit you get on Yonkers. Now I say this: “Darling Specs— or whoever— your eyes sparkle like the stars at midnight. Your smile lifts my spirits on a rainy day. And not to sound rash, but I think we make a striking pair, you and I. Now, take these roses, take this chocolate, just like you took my heart. All I ask in return is to take you to dinner on this Valentine’s Day evening”— this is for Valentine’s Day, right?”

Specs, who had been nodding intently, affirmed this. “Yes, Valentine’s Day. Thanks, Romeo.” He quickly spun on his heels and headed back to his desk before Romeo could get another word out.

At least, Romeo thought he was going back to his desk. Specs briefly stopped at his desk and pulled out a few pages of red paper from a folder before very nearly running out the doors of  _ The World _ . It was with a quickness of a man determined and the door closed behind him, allowing a few snowflakes to fly in.

“Lucky gal,” Romeo muttered to himself. He went back to his work, anything to put his mind at ease. For the next few hours, his world had to revolve around William Desmond Taylor, not Specs and the mystery gal and wherever they planned on going on  _ fucking Valentine’s Day. _

He took a deep breath. "Mabel Normand, film comedienne, the last person to see Taylor alive, is reported to be near collapse…”

* * *

It was the day before Valentine’s Day and Romeo was doing a variety of poses in front of his bathroom mirror to the sound of old Italian music coming from upstairs. His head bobbed to the sound of drums and his heart lept at the the tapping sound of feet dancing on the floor above him. He knew the couple, a Mr. and Mrs. Cellebrezze. They were both in their eighties and always had a smile to share with everyone they came across. However, the smiles they shared with each other were the most romantic and Romeo hoped against hope that he could be that in love with someone and stay in love with them for upwards of six decades, just like the Cellebrezzes. 

Tonight was the night of nights. Late the night before, he shopped around for yellow articles of clothing. Yellow bowtie, yellow suspenders, a fabric dandelion to place in his suit chest pocket. He supposed that finding a yellow suit would’ve been a little much, so he didn’t put any energy in trying to find one, even as a gag. He didn’t want this to be weird.

Fuck, what if it was too weird?

Romeo took a deep breath and then let it out, going through the checklist in his head. Clothes were together and he’d gotten word of a super-exclusive speakeasy (he was a reporter, after all; he got word of  _ everything _ .) Something like “pansy club” in a manner of speaking. Not exclusive towards them, but open to anything and, as he’d gone to check it out (required a secret word even), it was pretty fancy as well. At least as far as speakeasies went.

He’d asked the owner of the speakeasy, a stout greying old woman of all people, if she could play a specific song at a specific time and, after negotiating the cost of that down from something hefty to something that only slightly stung, the deal was made. Eight o’clock. Tuesday evening. The date was set.

But the  _ date _ itself hadn’t been made (Specs's elusive gal was still an obstacle, but maybe he could get to him before Specs got to her). Romeo had never been the nervous type. He was all bombastic and confident near about all the time. But being with Specs was different. It had changed. He wondered if it showed. He wondered if Specs noticed.

God, it’d be so awkward if Specs noticed.

But he had to do this today. He got a box of vanilla halva (with a card inside written in his most legible penmanship because writing a card with a typewriter seemed so much more impersonal), since Specs preferred that over chocolate. It was in a yellow heart-shaped box because this was Valentine’s Day, dammit. Flowers were difficult to come by during the wintertime, much less yellow dandelions, so Romeo had folded up dozens of yellow paper parols, star-shaped crafts taught to him by his father. He stuck the sides of the creations to sticks using messy glue. All in all, he felt like a child, but he was sure Specs would get a kick out of that.

All he had left to do was call him. 

That was it.

Just pick up the phone and call Specs like he did so many times before.

Good God.

There was the possibility of absolute rejection. There was also the possibility of a date. He couldn’t stay in a place of perpetual anxiety in his bathroom for the rest of his life. 

“Get a hold of yourself, Romeo,” he told himself. He made the sign of the cross and called upon Saint Valentine to pull him through this. And with nothing to lose, he walked out of the bathroom and towards the phone, dialing Specs’s number and hoped for the best. 

The operator on the line asked who the call was to be connected to and Romeo replied with Specs’s apartment. And then, there was dialing. And then there was the dialing. And then there was the waiting. And maybe he wouldn’t pick up anyway— 

“Romeo?” Specs asked on the other line.

Romeo breathed deeply into the phone, wondering if Specs could hear his heart racing. “Heya, Specs.”

“You okay?”

“Me? What? Yeah, I’m fine. You fine?”

“I’m terrific,” Specs answered, sounding less than terrific, but with that tone that suggested that Romeo shouldn’t pester him about it. “The McCormick’s beagle got into my room.”

_ Alright _ , Romeo thought.  _ Let me just ease into this in little while.  _ For now, he could fall back into this pattern. “Fuck the McCormicks. Tell me all about it.”

And Specs did. For ten minutes, he went into excruciating detail about all the damage that dumb dog did to his curtains and potted plants. Specs didn’t usually go into detail with stories, describing specific type of plants and the color of the curtains that were mangled beyond repair. Romeo had been to his apartment countless times, he knew what they looked like. He only went into depth like that if he was nervous.

What the fuck did Specs have to be nervous about? Romeo was the one due to have a heart attack any moment from now.

Romeo could tell the story was dying down and when Specs started to say his goodbyes, Romeo managed to get one last thing in: “Hey, Specs, you doin’ anything for Valentine’s?”

“Uh, no. But I was maybe gonna ask you about somethin’. You go first though.”

“I was, uh, you know that place where Dreamland burned down? No, shit, you wouldn’t know that place. I just learned about it. Anyway, it’s nice there and they’ve got this nice little old lady that runs the joint and—” Romeo cut himself off because he could feel the beginning of a ramble starting and he needed to get to the  _ point _ . “You wanna go there tomorrow? You and me?”

“With the guys?”

“Not with the guys,” Romeo said quickly. “Just. Just the two of us. Together. Onadateorsomethin’...”

Silence came from the other line and all Romeo could hear was breathing. Shocked breathing? Disgusted breathing? Elated breathing? He had no fucking idea.

“Ah...jeez, Romeo. That’s, uh, I’m…”

“Weirded out? Fuck, I knew this was a bad idea. Forget about it.”

“What? No. Just give me time to answer, Romeo. You’re real self-deprecatin’, y’know that?”

“I am?”

“Yeah,” Specs answered. “Well, this is just sorta funny. I had half a mind to ask you the same thing tomorrow.” He laughed to himself. “Funny, that.”

“ _ What _ ?”

“Yeah.”

“Unbe _ lievable _ .”

Specs laughed harder. “Yeah.”

“You like me?” Romeo asked, holding himself back from doing something stupid, like jumping up and down and getting screamed at by the couple below him. “You actually like me?”

“I’ve liked you since I was thirteen, Romeo. I just didn’t have the words to fuckin’ described it.”

“ _ God. _ ”

“And you’d flirt with every woman who’d smile at you and I figured there’d be no chance in hell.”

“Jeez, Specs. I didn’t know.” Romeo paused. “But if you were so sure about that, why’d you plan on asking me out tomorrow?”

“Half a mind,” Specs corrected.

“You know what I mean.”

“Honestly, I have no idea.” Romeo heard screaming coming from Specs’s end and Specs sighed into the phone. “Let me get back to you tomorrow. The McCormicks want their dog back.”

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

The men quickly exchanged their goodbyes (Romeo dropped the location of the speakeasy) and when Romeo heard the phone click, he nearly dropped his own. It was as if adrenaline flooded his system and then left in the same second and he felt nearly ready to collapse onto the floor.

He was in  _ love. _

* * *

Romeo woke up on Valentine’s Day with a smile on his face. He got up a full hour before he usually did and actually cooked eggs for a rare breakfast before going to 99 Park Row. Once at The World (with a full stomach, fancy that), he grinned at Specs, who smiled back, and his two cups of coffee, the familiar smell of Chesterfields and ink felt cozy in the cold building, and even the unsolvable Desmond Taylor assignment wasn’t enough to lower his spirits.

The work day passed by almost like a blink of an eye and once the clock’s arm landed on five, Romeo made a mad dash for the door (not fast enough to miss the wide-eyed expression on Specs’s face and the sound of Ike shouting “Hot date, huh?”). His brown jacket was folded over his right arm and Romeo didn’t even bother putting it on, despite the snow. He wasn’t cold. He was in  _ love. _

If he got pneumonia, that was a problem for tomorrow.

In his apartment, he got ready. On went his finest suit. On went the bright yellow suspenders and yellow bowtie and fake dandelion in his chest pocket. He combed his hair was pomade (the nice kind, not that Mars bullshit). 

Under his left arm was the yellow box of halva and the bouquet of yellow paper stars.

Yellow was such a funny color for Valentine’s Day. 

But it made Specs happy and, by association, it made Romeo happy. 

He left the apartment at six and hailed a taxi. The taxi driver made small talk on the way to the speakeasy, asking about the lucky broad and whatnot, and Romeo was obliged to tell him all about the “broad” and explain the abundance of yellow. From the sight of the traffic outside, Romeo gritted his teeth. It’d be his luck to end up being late after all of this.

The building that housed the speakeasy didn’t look like much on the outside. Then again, that was the goal of the majority of existing speakeasies. A speakeasy never had a sign with bright lights declaring for all the world to see that they had illegal alcohol right inside that very establishment. You just had to be in the know.

Romeo tipped the driver before he drove away and Romeo walked to the front door of the building. Standing there, facing the door, was a tall man. He seemed to be in a heated discussion with the whoever was on the other end of the door. Probably didn’t know the secret word to gain entrance inside.

Then the man turned around and Romeo stopped in his tracks. The man wore a red tie with a red rose peeking from his chest pocket. In one hand he held a heart-shaped red box and in the other a single rose.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Romeo.”

“Specs…” Romeo breathed, almost speechless.

“This fuck won’t let me inside if I don’t say some secret word. You believe this crap?”

“Milkmaid.”

“What?”

“The secret word is “milkmaid”,” Romeo said, nodding at the door. “You’ve got to tell him that.”

“What kinda fuckin’ secret word is that?”

“No idea. That’s just what I was told.”

“Oh. Ok.” Specs stood there with his thinking frown, like he was contemplating something. “Before all that, I gotta do something.”

“Yeah?”

Specs stood up straight and slowly walked towards him, the hand holding the single rose behind his back and Romeo noticed how his shoes shined under the light of the setting sun, making his eyebrows jumped up. Specs cleared his throat and looked Romeo directly in the eyes. “Darling, Romeo—”

“Holy shit, Specs,” Romeo softly said.

“Your eyes sparkle like the stars at midnight. Your smile lifts my spirits on a rainy day. And not to sound rash, but , huh,” Specs stopped and laughed a little, almost hysterically. His smile grew. “I think we make a striking pair, you and I. Now take this rose and take this chocolate.” Here, he held out the rose and the box of chocolates. “Just like you took my heart. All I ask in return is to take you inside this here speakeasy on this Valentine’s Day evening.”

Romeo stood silently, his mouth hanging open in shock.

“Nothing to say?”

“You took the words right outta my mouth, you fuckin’ sap.”

“What can I say? I learn from the best.” Specs nodded at the box that Romeo was holding. “What do you got there?.”

“Vanilla halva and paper stars, for my one and only.”

“Romeo…” Specs groaned.

“Let’s hurry up and get inside.” Romeo swiftly walked towards the door. “Our song is gonna play at eight on the dot.”

“Our song?”

“Dancing Fool, fool.”

The men entered the bustling speakeasy. The lights were bright, dancing all about the walls from a low-hanging chandelier in the middle of the room. The smell of alcohol was thick and the sound of music was deafening.

“Dancing Fool” played at eight. It wasn’t a slow song they danced to. It was rather upbeat. It hardly mattered to the two men. Their hands were on each other and their feet jumped and spun around to the music. 

And they were in  _ love. _

 

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what y'all thought!!!
> 
> i think i'll write about spot and his cane next


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